The valiant Crusader let loose the battle cry,
And raised his blade as it glistened in the desert sky.
Unknowingly the soldiers marched, many to their deaths,
The imminence of battle was quickening their breaths.
At long last the Crusaders met the "infidel" side,
As up in the vault of the sky did a vulture glide.
Man versed man, will opposed will, and steel clanged against steel,
While above the hungry vulture awaited its meal.
A fiercely sharp sword went tearing through the stagnant air,
What sane man would stand in defiance? No one would dare.
But somehow, someone's side was cut, dealt a heavy blow,
And a poor, young soul was yet another one to go.
A mass of arrows came down as a thick, piercing rain,
And everywhere they struck they inflicted intense pain.
From this conflict grew a heady brew of sweat and blood,
Cursing the atmosphere as well as the dry, cracked mud.
Battle ravaged the men like an infectious disease,
Never to rise again, the wounded fell to their knees.
It was once said, "Fight for God and riches He'll bestow!"
But what of future hardships did any of them know?
Hearts ceased to beat; thousands of soldiers forever lost,
And to what should these men attribute such grave a cost?
To God? Why would He want discord and not harmony?
To greed? Well, is that not enough incentive for thee?